


A New Kind of Buzz

by thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 00:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: Jim closed his eyes. “Let me see it.”“It’s ugly,” Oswald shouted and Jim’s eyes widened at the sob underlying in it. “You’ll mock me.”“I promise I won’t.”Finally, Oswald unlocked the door and stepped out in his bathrobe and with a cap on his head, eyes downcast. Jim couldn’t see anything wrong, except for Oswald’s tear-streaked cheeks. It had to be the cap hiding something, but what could cause such distress?





	A New Kind of Buzz

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This story was inspired by the new pics of Robin. It started out as crack and then somehow turned into hurt/comfort with smutty hints, so yeah. Hope you enjoy, I went for the free space for the Gobblepot Week 2019
> 
> Thanks to Nekomata58919 for the beta! :)

Grey and gloomy light fell over Gotham, nothing unusual for the city, but the day would reveal many surprises.

 

The GCPD was busy as ever; Jim and Harvey were reading through the files of their current case, looking for a detail that they might have missed. So far, all the leads were useless, and they were back to square one.

 

“You should ask for help from your old pal, Penguin,” Harvey suggested, leaning back against his seat expectantly, as if waiting for Jim to get up and be out the door that very instant.

 

“Even if that were possible, I'm not sure he's still… in the know,” Jim said, rubbing his temples.

 

“What, you mean after the kidnapping?”

 

Jim swallowed. “Yeah.”

 

The circumstances were still very much unknown and highly speculated in the media. Some man had kidnapped the Kingpin of Gotham, and supposedly tortured him, or so the rumours said. Oswald managed to escape by the time the GCPD raided the place, the kidnapper was gone too. In fact, he had never been captured, but everyone suspected what had been his fate.

 

Oswald had curiously vanished from the public eye since the incident. He had refused to go to the station and press charges. Presumably, because he didn’t want to leave his house. No one had seen the Penguin ever since, some newspapers even wrote that he was killed or left the city, taking a long holiday in the Maldives.

 

Jim scoffed at all the stories, but he couldn’t help being concerned. He would have denied it outright, but a couple of days after the incident, he had sent Oswald a text.

 

_ “I heard what happened. Everything alright?” _

 

He thought that was neutral enough.

 

The reply came exactly three hours and forty-one minutes later. Of course, Jim had absolutely not checked his phone every five minutes.

 

_ “I’m fine, James, thank you for your concern.” _

 

It was polite, but cold, colder than ice. Jim thought that maybe no response would have been better, and then he would have had an excuse to see Oswald. No one knew what had actually happened in that basement, and it wasn’t really like Oswald to keep silent. 

 

Pretending to need help with the case would be a good enough reason to finally go and pay Oswald a visit, get to the bottom of what had actually happened. It must have been something horrendous to drive Oswald away from the spotlight, which he clearly enjoyed otherwise.

 

“Alright, I’ll go,” Jim said, studiously pretending not to really be into the idea.

 

As soon as he drove up to the Van Dahl mansion, his sense that something was not right heightened. Though it was a remote area, it seemed exceptionally quiet. Not even a bird flew by. Jim looked around as he got out of his car; he would have believed that no one was inside, but the curtain in one of the windows moved.

 

He rang the doorbell, and finally, Olga – Oswald’s maid – opened the door, looking down at him.

 

“I came to see Oswald.”

 

“Mr. Cobblepot says no visitors.”

 

“Tell him it’s Detective Gordon looking for him.”

 

“No exceptions.”

 

Jim withered under her hard stare. “Look, just ask him. It’s very important.”

 

Olga narrowed her eyes, but finally she gave in. She let Jim into the hallway, then pinned him to the place with her gaze. “Stay there.”

 

Jim wouldn’t have dared to move while Olga went upstairs. He had only been here a few times, always on some official matter, so he never had time to really have a good look at the place. Even so, it seemed quiet and dark, more so than usual, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Olga was probably the only one in the house except for Oswald.

 

Olga came downstairs, her serious expression unchanged, so Jim didn't know what would be her answer. Good news, bad news? 

 

She regarded Jim for so long that the detective lost his patience. “So?”

 

Olga shook her head. “No visitors?”

 

Jim passed a hand over his mouth. He never would have thought that he'd lose his special status so quickly. “Have you told him that it's important? That it's  _ me _ ?”

 

“He doesn't want to see anyone,” Olga announced, pursing her lips. “Especially you.”

 

“What? What do you mean?”

 

Jim glanced at the upper floor. He needed to make it to the third door, that was where Olga had gone before. But he had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to get past her, guarding her master like Cerberus guarded the gates of Hell.

 

“Look, what's that?” Jim asked, pointing towards the kitchen.

 

When Olga looked away, Jim launched himself onto the stairs. He only had about a second advantage, Olga following him like a hurricane.

 

“Oswald!” Jim yelled.

 

“No, come back!” Olga yelled, wielding her dustfeather, a string of other words thrown after Jim, which he was pretty certain were curses in Russian.

 

Jim broke into the room and looked around frantically. He heard a gasp from the other side, but by the time he looked in that direction, he only saw the tail of Oswald's bathrobe disappear behind the bathroom door.

 

Annoyed, Jim hurried there, but it was too late: he heard the click of the lock. He tried the handle before banging on the door. “Oswald, open up!”

 

“OLGAAA!” came Oswald's voice from inside, slightly muffled.

 

“I told detective no visitors, but he no listens!” Olga replied, glaring at Jim.

 

“Take him out!”

 

“I'm not going anywhere!” Jim yelled back towards the door, then turned around and had a staring contest with Olga.

 

A weary sigh came from Oswald. “You can leave, Olga. I'll deal with him myself.”

 

Olga pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at Jim. No wonder Oswald could be scary, if even his maid inspired such respect.

 

“Why are you here, Jim?”

 

Jim panicked, even though he really should have expected such a question. “Uh… it's about a case.”

 

“Yes, that was clear.” Why was sarcasm so easy to convey, even with a door standing between them?

 

“There's been a homicide at this exclusive club…”

 

“So?”

 

“Listen, Oswald, why don't you come out here and we’ll talk like adults. This is ridiculous,” Jim complained, putting his hand on the door.

 

“No need. I'm perfectly fine here!”

 

Jim rolled his eyes. “Oswald…” Jim leaned his forehead against the door. “Come out. Please.”

 

Silence.

 

“No one's seen you since… for weeks. How do I know it's the real you?”

 

Oswald laughed, a little too highly. “Oh, it's the real me, alright.”

 

“That's exactly what a clone would say. Come out…” Jim swallowed. “I want to see you.”

 

The moment of silence gave enough time for Jim to screw his eyes shut. He wasn’t supposed to sound so eager.

 

“You can't, Jim! I'll help you now, but next time just call,” Oswald said, Jim noting rising hysteria in his tone. “I won't be able to meet you, or anyone, for two-three months.”

 

“What? Why? Are you ill? Is it something contagious?” The sense that something was wrong grew stronger.

 

“No, nothing of the sorts. Don’t worry, you’re in absolute no danger. You just can’t see me like this!”

 

Jim was getting worried. “Like this? Oswald, what happened? Were you hurt?”

 

He tried to force the door open, but he stood no chance, it was solid wood. “Oswald?”

 

“Not injured per se… not like that.” More words were murmured, but Jim couldn’t make them out. 

 

He sighed. “Oswald… come on. It can be fixed for sure.”

 

Oswald laughed. “No, it can’t. Not now anyway.”

 

Jim closed his eyes. “Let me see it.”

 

“It’s ugly,” Oswald shouted and Jim’s eyes widened at the sob underlying in it. “You’ll mock me.”

 

“I promise I won’t.”

 

Finally, Oswald unlocked the door and stepped out in his bathrobe and with a cap on his head, eyes downcast. Jim couldn’t see anything wrong, except for Oswald’s tear-streaked cheeks. It had to be the cap hiding something, but what could cause such distress?

 

Jim reached out to take it off, but Oswald caught his wrist, eyes wide and tears gathering anew. “Please, don’t.”

 

“Oswald…” Jim frowned, fingertips barely grazing the gangster’s jaw. “It’s alright.”

 

A tear escaped Oswald’s eye. He looked away, letting go of Jim’s wrist. Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen Oswald like this, and he could barely swallow. To be allowed to get so close to someone, to see their vulnerability, especially Oswald’s… The detective brushed away the tear with his thumb. 

 

He gently took off Oswald’s cap, expecting bruises or wounds, even though Oswald assured him it wasn’t that. What he found was a lack of Oswald’s famous hair.  _ Gone _ . Although he would never admit it, Jim really enjoyed all of Oswald’s hairdos, eccentric as they were.

 

And now, to see Oswald with a buzzcut, was definitely a shock, but it quickly turned into relief. He inspected Oswald’s head carefully, but besides a healing bruise on his right temple, his head was okay.

 

_ Oswald was fine. _

 

Jim couldn’t hold back his smile, but Oswald misinterpreted it. “I knew you would laugh at me!” he yelled and tried to get away from Jim, thrashing about.

 

“Oswald!” The gangster was obviously very sensitive about the matter, so Jim caught his hands, calling his name softly. “Oswald, listen to me.  _ Oswald _ .”

 

Oswald’s teary eyes finally focused on him. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.”

 

“Then what was that? I clearly saw you smiling!”

 

“Yes, but… I thought you were injured. I mean no one’s seen you for weeks, I thought something bad happened to you.”

 

“Clearly, it has!” Oswald snapped, sparing Jim the embarrassment of registering the soft feelings behind his words.

 

“Oswald… something bad would be if you were hurt, but this,” Jim glanced at the top of Oswald’s head, “is not a tragedy.”

 

“Not a tragedy?! Says you, Detective Gordon with your perfect and beautiful hair!”

 

Jim huffed; he was not overjoyed when his hair was shaved off upon joining the army, but it never caused such anguish. He needed to get to the bottom of this. “Why are you so upset about it?”

 

Oswald’s mouth opened, as if the answer to Jim’s question were obvious. “How can I not? I look like a clown!”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Oswald clucked his tongue at the curse. “I do! That brute shaved it off, as if I were a prisoner. Look at this face, it’s as if it isn’t even me anymore.”

 

Jim squeezed Oswald’s arm. “Of course, it’s you. You’re not only your hair. It’s your presence, your words, thoughts, your voice. Your eyes.” Jim held Oswald’s surprised gaze, his own cheeks blushing.

 

“Yes, your hair was nice, but it will grow back quickly. You're not Samson, you have lost none of your power.”

 

Jim was pleased that Oswald appreciated his reference, felt very proud of himself.

 

“I suppose you're right,” Oswald said, wiping at his eye.

 

“That's a first, you admitting that.”

 

Oswald laughed, and Jim was overwhelmed by his beauty. “See, that's much better,” he said, putting his hand on the side of Oswald's head.

 

The gangster was silent, afraid to even breath. Jim didn't know what he was doing, fingers sliding over Oswald's scalp easily. “It feels nice,” he said awkwardly, but that was hardly any explanation for the whole situation. “You look really cute too.”

 

“Cute?” Oswald repeated, feathers ruffling despite his excitement of being so close to Jim. “I'm  _ not _ cute!”

 

“You are. Like a baby bird,” Jim said, and he put his arms around Oswald, not letting him get away, raising his chin as the gangster looked up defiantly.

 

“You're also beautiful.”

 

“Yeah, right.” Oswald turned his gaze away, staring at the carpet.

 

Jim got closer, his nose brushing Oswald's cheek. “You are. Like you stepped out from the cover of some magazine.” He never imagined he'd have to voice these thoughts, but seeing Oswald so insecure was worse than putting himself out there. “The things you do to me, sometimes I can’t even speak. My brain just freezes.”

 

Oswald looked up, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and wariness, decades worth of fear of rejection. Jim didn’t know for sure, but he strongly suspected that the gangster was bullied in school. He appeared confident to the untrained eye, especially since becoming rich and polishing his appearance, but deep down he was still that poor boy of an immigrant mother who wanted to be someone and run with the cool crowd.

 

Jim leaned in, then stopped abruptly, an inch from Oswald's lips. There was a hand in his hair, grip gentle, but demanding.

 

“What are you waiting for?”

 

Jim smiled as his lips pressed against Oswald, the possessive side of Oswald coming out as his lips were trailing after Jim’s, wanting more and more. Jim let him have his fill for a while, his hands stroking Oswald’s jaw, then deepened it, savouring Oswald’s moan when their tongues touched. 

 

Oswald let go, but they stayed close, breathing in against each other. Jim kissed away a stray tear, then smiled at Oswald.

 

“Better?”

 

“Much… but I think I need more of this kind of encouragement,” Oswald said with a hint of teasing.

 

“I’d be happy to provide it.”

 

“Good, because you absolutely owe me, James, but I need to get dressed first.”

 

It was only then that Jim realised Oswald was still in his bathrobe. He was so stupid, he should have kissed the exposed skin of Oswald's neck… It didn't matter, he would do it some other time. Dedicate hours to exploring Oswald's body and to worshipping him with his lips.

 

Oswald smiled at him shyly before retreating to the bathroom to get dressed, and Jim huffed. Surely, if he stayed an extra ten minutes to ‘encourage’ Oswald, it would make no difference to the GCPD. He'd just tell Harvey that he needed to persuade Oswald  _ really hard _ in order to get the necessary intel.

 

Then Jim realised that Oswald always wore so many layers which would stand in the way of him kissing Oswald's neck all the way down to his chest… Jim sighed. It would take too long to take them off if he wanted to get back to the precinct at a reasonable time. He really didn't want to leave without kissing Oswald's collarbone, though.

 

Jim got up and knocked on the bathroom door. “Oswald, I'm coming in. I forgot to tell you something important.”

 

Surprised, the gangster froze on the spot, but soon became pliant under Jim's warm lips and tugged at his tie to bring the detective closer.

 

Jim smiled into the kiss and thought that maybe he should just call Harvey to say that he would be  _ very  _ late.


End file.
